The Fire Sermon
by Altariel
Summary: Faramir and Éowyn in the Houses of Healing. Mithril Awards - Runner-up, Best LoTR.
1. Prologue

_Extinction_

I wandered for a long time on a road that was dark, and as I stumbled along I felt hopelessness wash over me, that I would never reach the end of my road, and that even if I should, my destination would lie in ruins, or I would not recognize it for what it was and remain forever lost. 

Into this mist there would come, very quiet, a frail voice calling my name. But when I looked ahead, all I could was see a faint light, red and flickering. And I made for this light, unsure of its source, but preferring it to my aimless wandering. 

I staggered on for a long time and then, without warning, my journey became terrible. Behind me, I could feel the rapid approach of a nameless enemy, gaining on me, with a cry that froze the will and left me struggling to move. The light ahead of me went dim. I fell to the ground. 

When I steeled myself at last to raise my head and looked around, I saw that I was lying on the bridge of Osgiliath, as it had been. Still I could not stand, and ever behind me I heard the advance of the enemy. I could see now that the red light ahead was my city, burning. 

Despair engulfed me, but a last flame of resistance flickered. _If I am to die, I thought, __it will be facing my foes. Wearily, I turned myself around, and looked up at an inky sky. In that darkness, black shapes were wheeling, but they seemed to have no substance, as if holes had been ripped in the very fabric of the heavens. A dart pierced me. Then, with hideous shrieks, wave upon wave of orcs descended on me, and hewed at me. The old stone of the bridge crumbled beneath their weight, and I was plunged into the depths. _

All went black. And then I heard a voice again, but this was stronger and more commanding than the other. It seemed to me that I was floating, perhaps on the water, or perhaps my spirit had at last left my body. Above me, the stars came out and, feeling life in my limbs once more, I grabbed for the river bank and struggled ashore, gasping. When I looked ahead, I saw a light once more, and it burned with a green flame. 

I was weary now, caught between fire and water, and I longed for sleep. But the voice came again, calling my name with soft insistence. I wanted to obey it - but the lure of the darkness was strong, and whispered to me of oblivion, of peace. I closed my eyes again, but the voice called me a third time, and this time it could not be denied. I opened my eyes and looked on the face of my king. 


	2. Chapter 1

I

_Musing upon my brother's wreck  
And on my father's death..._

I woke just after dawn, when the air was still cool and the world silent. Within moments of my opening my eyes, Beregond was at my side. 

'Good morning, my lord,' he said quietly. 'Are you well?'

I considered this for a moment. 'I think I may be,' I said, tried to sit up, and failed, with a yelp of pain. 

'You were wounded, lord,' Beregond said, and I saw for the first time that my left shoulder was bound. 'You took a dart,' he explained, as he helped me up against the pillows. 

'So I can see - and feel.' I settled back more comfortably. I felt extremely tired, but it was not the aching exhaustion I had felt when I had set out for Osgiliath. This tiredness was almost wholesome, it felt natural for a body that had been driven hard, but was now recovering. 

Beregond looked at me anxiously. 'Are you hungry?' he said. 'The Warden said that you should eat when you woke up. I can fetch breakfast.'

I smiled at him. He seemed eager to do something for me. 'I'm _very hungry,' I said truthfully. 'I would very much like something to eat.'_

He ran out almost before I had finished speaking, and I lay back on the pillows. The window was open, and a morning breeze blew in. As I breathed in the fresh air, it seemed to me that I felt better than I had in months. I was alive. And I had lived to see the king. 

Beregond returned bearing what seemed, I saw gladly, to be plate upon plate. I was still eating when the door opened once more, and the Prince Imrahil entered. He glanced at the debris of my breakfast. 'I see your strength returns,' he smiled, and sat on the bed, putting his hand to my brow. 'The fever has left you,' he murmured. 'May the Valar be praised! We thought that we had lost you.' And he pressed my hand for a moment. 

He watched as I finished eating, answering my questions about the course of events across the previous days. I grieved to learn how many more of my men had died even as we had reached the city gates, and heard with sorrow the long list of friends I had lost soon afterwards. 

'For yesterday there was battle on the fields of the Pelennor, and the enemy was routed,' he told me. 'Minas Tirith is safe - for a while, at least. Twice we were saved by the coming of our allies at the moment of our greatest need. The Captain of the Enemy had entered the gates when the Rohirrim rode onto the Pelennor. And as the strength of the enemy overwhelmed us again, the Lord Aragorn came to Harlond, and he was flying the standard of the heirs of Elendil. It was a great victory!'

He paused, and ran his hand through my hair, which he had not done since I was a boy. 'What deeds you did in the defence of Gondor!' he exclaimed, and his eyes shone. 'If you had not held firm in your retreat, there would have been no city left for the Rohirrim to deliver.'

When I answered, it was with hesitation in my voice. 'Although I know that he must have many matters to concern him, still, if he could spare me some time, I would hear my lord steward's judgement of my conduct.'

He sighed and took my hand again. A cold wind blew through the open window and I shivered. 

'What is it, uncle?' 

He dropped his eyes. 'Alas, it was a great victory, but not without cost.' Then he looked at me again and held my gaze sadly. 'Your father is dead, Faramir.'

At once I thought of our last meeting, of the harsh words we had exchanged, his wrath at my disobedience, my bitterness at his contempt. 'It cannot be,' I protested. 'We parted in anger...'

He pressed my hand hard. 'Do not distress yourself!' he said. 'He regretted what had passed between you. And he knew all that you had done. He died loving his second son as much as he had ever loved the first.' 

It was not three weeks since the boat had crept by me on the waters. The news of this fresh loss was too much. _'They are both gone,' I whispered, __'and I am utterly alone.' And dropping my head against his arm I wept for the wreck of my family; for the father whose love I had not had until too late, and for the brother I had killed with a dream. _

***

After he left me, I lay for a while, inconsolable. The light seemed to have dimmed. As the day advanced towards noon, my spirits sank lower, and I could feel a chill descend on me again. By an act of will I forced myself not to succumb. But I could not lie still. The quiet of the room oppressed me, forcing my thoughts inwards. And so despite Beregond's worries and the Warden's protests, I rose in the late morning. 

By the time I had dressed I was so weary I had begun to doubt the wisdom of the decision. But, protecting my shoulder by holding my left arm inwards and supporting myself on the right by leaning on Beregond, together he and I made slow but steady progress down a small flight of steps and into a little garden. 

In all the years that this city had been my home, I had visited these Houses only twice before. Once was when I was a boy, and my brother had fractured his leg chasing me down onto the fifth level. I had suffered the full extent of my father's wrath on that occasion. And I recalled an earlier visit, hazy now in my memory, when I was very young. I suspected, but had never confirmed, since the matter was a closed one in our household, that this had been to see my mother before she died. 

But I had never before had cause to stay here myself. My brother constantly acquired scratches and broken bones and, if a fever passed through the city, he would always catch it and burn up and bounce back, living life at the extreme as ever. But I was always in good health. Unhappiness, I think, does not always take a physical toll. 

Beregond helped me to the walls and, resting my right hand on the stone to support myself, I looked out on the scarred fields of the Pelennor. I saw with sadness the burnt homesteads and, beyond, I could see the ruin of the Rammas that we had striven so hard to maintain. But the river shone silver in the morning light, and the banners of the tents set out on the fields fluttered defiantly in the breeze. Gondor had been battered, but had not been destroyed. 

I stood and looked out for a little while, breathing the clear air and thinking about my father, and I then heard a high voice say my name. I turned and looked down at the Halfling, Pippin. 

'My lord steward,' he said, and I was startled to hear it said, 'my friends and I are gathered at the far side of the garden. Would you care to join us?'

I looked to where he pointed, and saw three figures watching back. 

'Thank you,' I said. 'I will.'

They watched as I made my slow approach, and I became aware that I was moving like an old man. Yet as I came closer, I saw that they were looking on me kindly. Strange companions the Halfling had journeyed with, Elf and Dwarf, and another of his kind whom, I saw now, was a guest in the House like myself. 

'Ah,' murmured the elf, as I sat down slowly beside them, 'if Pippin had not said your name I would have known it, so like are you to Boromir. He spoke of you often, and with love.'

'Then,' I said in wonder, 'you must be the others that set forth from Imladris. I have met two of your company already.' 

The other Halfling, Merry, looked at me in amazement, and I explained how I had met their friends in Ithilien. Then they asked me more about my deeds since Boromir had left, and I said a little about the Rangers in Ithilien, which seemed now like news from another age, but mentioned only briefly the retreat from Osgiliath. I dwelt most upon my encounter with Frodo and Samwise, and Merry pressed me for details, laughing to hear of Sam's thrill at the sight of the mûmak, and glad to hear I had left Frodo in good health. In return, he and Pippin spoke with great emotion of my brother's last stand, and tears pricked my eyes as they told of his valour in their defence. In the brief time between my return from Ithilien and my departure for Osgiliath, my father had not seen fit to speak to me about my brother's last hours. 

They seemed not to know of Boromir's assault on their friend or, perhaps, were protecting me from the news. I saw no reason to ask or to tell. There would be time enough for such tales if we survived the coming days. And if they knew nothing, what good would it do, when we all needed hope, to destroy their memory of a man they held to be a hero? It was better, for now, that they remember him as the fearless and good man that he had truly been. For whatever terrible trial my poor brother had faced and then failed, I had seen him at peace in death, and I did not doubt that he had striven and succeeded to redeem himself at the end. 

I heard strange stories, then, of the Forests of Fangorn and the Paths of the Dead; of ents and woses and seeing stones; tales of war in Rohan and the Riders of the Mark, and of the Grey Company's race through the south to deliver Gondor. In time, my companions brought me home to the fields of the Pelennor, and finally Merry spoke, of the Black Captain, and the death of Théoden of Rohan, and the valour of the White Lady. And I listened in horror to his tale, as he spoke of the chill that pierced him when he drove his sword into that terrible emptiness and the darkness that had then threatened to engulf him. 

He paused. 'I'll stop here, my lord. For I can see that you already know much about the chief of the Black Riders.'

I was trembling. Although I knew now that the Black Captain had indeed departed, even the memory of him froze my blood. 'Where was Mithrandir throughout this?' I asked, drawing my cloak around me more tightly. 'Could he not have saved the king at least?' _Since he could not save my father. _

The look between Peregrin and Beregond passed in an instant, but I caught it nonetheless. It seemed that I was not the only one concealing something. 

'Mithrandir was delayed in the city, lord,' Beregond said quietly. 

'It must have been something of great consequence to keep him from the field,' I pressed; then, catching the unease on Beregond's face, I turned the issue aside. 'No matter,' I said. 'I shall hear all in time, I think.'

But my head felt light, and I was overcome with a sudden need for quiet, to consider more carefully all that I had heard. I rose, a little unsteadily, and Beregond leapt to take my arm. 

'If you will forgive me, I shall take my leave of you now, my friends,' I said. 'It has been a day of many stories, some strange, some sorrowful, and not, I think, all yet told. But I need to think, and to rest.' I looked around at them all. 'I thank you for your company, and your patience in telling your tales once again.' And I looked at Merry and Pippin. 'I hope that my news of your friends has brought you some comfort. Your tale of my brother's last moments has brought some to me.'

Beregond took my arm again, and we walked back into the house in silence, my thoughts turning around on themselves. That something was being kept from me was plain, but what news could there be that was worse than learning that my father had died without us making our peace?

As we reached the door of my chamber, I halted, and turned to face my companion. 'Beregond, is there aught you have to tell me?' 

He looked down. 'No, my lord,' he muttered. 

It was unfair to force him. I sighed, and let him lead me back to bed. 

I lay down with relief, intending to give the matter more thought. But even such a short time outside had exhausted me, and I fell into a deep sleep. And I dreamt a dream of darkness, but not of the wave. Instead, I heard the crackling of fire, and smelt a smoke that smothered me, and I was fixed to where I lay and could not move, as the darkness ever approached. 

***

I awoke in the late afternoon, the last of the day's sun warming my face. Beregond was stretched out in a chair opposite me, fast asleep. 

'You rose this morning, I hear, my lord steward. It seems very soon.'

I turned my head and saw that Mithrandir was sitting in the chair to the right of me. As I struggled to sit up, my shoulder still sore, he rose to help me, then, once I was upright, sat alongside me on the bed. 

'A new wind had come in from the sea. I thought the air might clear my mind.'

'And did it?'

I shook my head slowly. 'Alas, I was left ill at ease.'

He frowned. 'What troubles you, lord?'

Before I could answer him, Beregond stirred in his chair, and woke. 'My lord!' he cried, and jumped to his feet, coming quickly to my side. His hair was tousled, his eyes filled with sleep. 'I should have been awake.'

I smiled at him. 'You should be asleep,' I said, raising an eyebrow at him. 'I think that you have barely left my side since I woke from the fever. Mithrandir, it seems, has been guarding me in your stead, although why I should merit such close attention I am unsure.'

'We are glad to see you alive and prospering, lord,' the wizard said quietly. 'No more than that.' He turned to Beregond. 'You have done enough today,' he said kindly. 'Go and rest.' 

We watched him leave, and then I seized the chance to speak first. 'Tell me,' I said, 'did the Captains meet this morning? What was decided?'

'My Lord Faramir, you are ill! You must not trouble yourself yet about such matters!'

'How many will be marching on the Black Gate?'

He shook his head in exasperation at my persistence. 'Some seven thousands,' he allowed.

'So few...' I murmured. 'I should be among them.'

'You have already fought one hopeless battle, my lord,' he said gently. 'Another, I think, would kill you.'

_It may yet come to that, I thought, but left it unsaid. 'When does the host set forth?' _

'Two days hence.' His eyes glittered. 'I know that you have already heard in full about the battle that was fought yesterday, and so you have no need to press me for news on that. But are you now done with your questions?'

'Not quite,' I said.

'Then pray continue, Lord Steward! And then perhaps you will heed my advice and take some rest! Come, what else do you want to know?'

'Tell me, Mithrandir, and do not hold back - how did my father die?'

His eyes flashed with a sudden fury. 'Who has spoken to you about this? If that young Took has breathed a word out of turn...'

'No word has been said to me,' I said, 'and that is what disturbs me. I am met with silence, or evasion. He did not fight in the battle, that I know. And I dream of fire, Mithrandir. I dream that I am burning. Can you solve this riddle for me?' 

'I can,' he sighed, 'but I am unsure that it is for the best. Your mind has ever been too quick for its own good.'

'Whatever it is,' I urged, 'it can be no worse than this uncertainty. When I set out for Osgiliath my father was well. His mood was stern - but that was hardly new! And yet when I awake, it is to hear that I am now the Steward of Gondor!' There was a rising note in my voice that I did not care for, but could not restrain.

'Whatever you may think, Faramir, it can only be hard news. When you were brought back from the field, your father's spirit was broken. He took his own life, and would have taken yours too, were it not for the defiance of Beregond and Peregrin.'

'_How?' I whispered, but the answer was already there, in my dream. _

'He built a pyre and he burnt himself.'

I turned my face away. 

'At the end,' he said softly, 'all that mattered to him was his love for you, and his remorse at how you had parted.'

'A love and a remorse so great he would have murdered me!' I said bitterly. 'He had not succeeded by sending me to Osgiliath. He had to try again.'

'He was defeated, Faramir. He believed the end had come.'

I looked at him keenly for a moment. 'What part was played in that,' I said, lowering my eyes, 'by the _palantír?'_

I caught his quick intake of breath. 'You _knew of it?'_

'I guessed,' I said simply. 'Not long after Boromir left. Many of us had seen the light at the top of the tower, and he would _know things that he could not possibly have learned... But I have read much that is kept in the libraries that others have not.' _

'And you said _naught?' he said sharply. 'You must have understood the danger.'_

I gazed back up at him. 'I had not the strength for such a confrontation.'

The fire in his eyes turned to pity. 'It played a large part,' he admitted. 

I sighed at this new sorrow. 'Though this news gives me great grief, I thank you, at least, for your honesty.'

He leaned across to put his hand against my brow, and frowned at the sheen of sweat that had broken out on it. 'You must rest, Faramir. I did not intend you to hear this news so soon.'

'I would rather have the full measure of the darkness which I must learn to endure.'

'A darkness even greater may await us.'

'That decision is already made,' I answered, then I closed my eyes, and slept. And when the wave that took Númenor overwhelmed me, I welcomed it with relief, as the least of the evils about which I could dream. 


	3. Chapter 2

II

_Lady of silences  
Calm and distressed_

_Torn and most whole_

Most of what I know of love I have learnt from books. Now, I am not so innocent as to expect life to imitate these stories, for in them children find lost parents, battles against darkness end in glorious victories, and warriors return from quests as saviours of their homes. But, despite all, still I had expected, when finally I came to fall in love, to feel the moment acutely, like an arrow or a flash of light. 

The first time I saw the Lady Éowyn, the depth of her sorrow moved me greatly, and I thought her the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. But there was no arrow, no flash of light. When I saw her again, standing in the garden the following morning, shining in the sunlight, and I felt by her presence the pain that would be her absence - then I knew that I loved her. By the end of that day it was clear to me that my life would be empty without her, and it was also clear to me that she loved somebody else. 

Ever eastwards she gazed, as if by straining her will thither she might somehow glimpse the host and its captain. And I saw her face become pale, and her eyes dim, and I sought to distract her thoughts, which seemed only to make her grieve greatly. 

'Tell me about your home, Éowyn.' 

She glanced up at me, startled, as if she had forgotten I was there. I took her arm and gently guided her away from the walls, and towards a seat at the far side of the garden. It was a mark of her weariness, I think, that she allowed me to do this. 

'My home,' she murmured. 'Where to begin?' 

She spoke, haltingly at first, of Edoras and the Golden Hall; and then colour came to her face as she told me of her brother and their childhood together, and she seemed for a little while almost vivacious, a glimpse of the woman she might be if she could but set aside her unhappiness. She spoke of Théoden, at first with warmth, and then with growing sadness as she recalled his old age. All her thoughts, it seemed, could not help but bend towards her sorrows. She stopped speaking, and her face went sad again. 

'Could you not,' I said hesitatingly, 'remember him more as he was before the shadow fell on him, and then after it departed? Perhaps then you might grieve less.'

She did not answer straight away, and sat for a moment considering her next words. Then she said softly, 'It seems strange, lord, to hear you offer me such counsel.'

'How so?'

She rested her hand on mine and looked at me steadily. 'For I know, my friend, that your own mind is filled with the memory of a bitter parting from a father who loved you too late.'

For a moment I could not answer and sat looking at her hand on my own. 'Who told you this?' I said finally. 

'Merry,' she said simply, and seeing my astonishment, remarked, 'You saw fit to question him about _me.'_

I lowered my head to hide my smile at the thought of the Halfling passing tales between us, then looked up at her. Her face was grave, but her eyes were soft. 

'I am caught out, lady,' I admitted. 'Will you forgive me if I promise never to be underhanded again?' 

'If you are, I shall find you out, since I need only ask Merry!' she laughed. 'I suspect, lord,' she added, 'that you lack the necessary talent to deceive with great success.'

'It is not a failing of which I am ashamed.'

'Indeed you should not be, my friend,' she said, and took my arm. 'And of all the mean things crawling on the earth that I despise, I hold a special contempt for those whose tongues are slippery with deceit.'

And we walked to the walls and looked out, and we turned aside from our griefs for a while, and talked instead about our friends the Halflings, and wondered what kind of country could make a people so light in spirit and yet so strong in will. 

***

On the fourth day after she first came to see me, the third that I had loved her, she was the saddest I had seen her yet, and I too was sick at heart from the watching and waiting, and at my failure to bring her any real joy. As if in gentle mockery of our mood, the sun shone and the sky was bright, and we sat side by side and leagues apart in the shade of an ancient tree. With a sigh, I put aside the book which had been resting on my lap, open but unread.

'This is unendurable,' she said, her voice brittle, and she lowered her head, shielding her face from my view with a veil of golden hair. I reached out to brush it aside, to see her again, and she drew away. 

I dropped my hand as if clutching a stone, then shifted away to lie on my side, and rested my cheek against the prickly grass. _Unendurable. _

After a few moments, I felt her move too, and she touched my hand. 'My lord - ' she said. 

'I would wish - ' I began at the same time. 

We both stopped. Once I was certain that I could face her evenly, I sat up again. I pushed away the veil, and this time she allowed it, and I gazed on her pale and flawless face.

'What would you wish?' she said. 

I took her hand and smiled at her. 'To see you in peace and happiness,' I said, 'however you might find it.' 

Her head dropped down again and I saw in dismay that she was in tears. 'Sir,' she said, 'I am ungenerous to you, and you repay me only with kindness.'

'It is only your due, Éowyn; and you are _not ungenerous. You are fearless, and honourable, and beautiful.' _

She shook her head firmly. 'Sir, you are greatly mistaken about me.' Then she looked at me steadily. 'My friend, I would not see you, out of all the people that I love, suffer the anguish of desiring an image above the reality.' She released my hand. 'All is dark. There is no way ahead.'

I lay back on the grass, stretching my legs before me, and looked up. 'Come and see, Éowyn,' I said at last. 'The sky is so clear. There are no clouds.'

And she lay down beside me and, after a moment, leaned her head on my shoulder - with care, since she knew that this was where I had been hurt. I rested my head on top of hers and, very soon, we were both asleep in the gentle March sun.  

***

The next morning was cold and the sky was grey, but still we preferred not to remain caged inside the House, and we paced the walls. And although my heart grew heavier as the morning went on, and I felt a cold fear chilling me, I needed only to look at her, wrapped in midnight blue and wreathed in stars, and the darkness seemed less terrible.

And there was a moment when all was silent, and the earth trembled under a great force, and my reason told me that we were lost, but my heart lifted as we stood so close together and waited for the stroke of doom. 

Then the sun shone forth, and its light caught the wings of a great eagle, flying in from the east, and bringing tidings of victory, and of the coming of the king. All the bells in the city were pealing, and the people in the streets were singing, and I wept for Minas Tirith and for Gondor, that had seemed lost, but had passed through fire and shadow to preserve the memory of Númenor into a new age. 

Beside me, Éowyn grasped my hand tightly, and she seemed to be weeping too, and hope rose in me that it might be the shadow had been lifted from her also. 

_All that I have ever read tells me that now would be the moment, Éowyn, I thought, not a little wryly, __for you to fall into my arms and say that you love me. _

But the moment passed. She sighed and withdrew, releasing my hand from her clasp, shifting her hand to rest only on my arm. 

_Alas that I love a lady as heedless of convention as she is lovely to behold._

We watched for a while in joy the people below us, rushing from their homes into the streets, and then I spoke. 'Tomorrow,' I said, 'I must leave this house, and take up my authority in the city.' 

She sighed. 'So it is soon goodbye, then, my friend.'

'I hope not, Éowyn.'

'I fear that it must be,' she murmured. 'Everything changes, yet I remain the same.'

'Yet it need not be so. Against all hope, the shadow has gone - '

'Not from me, lord.'

Her words pierced me. 'I would change that, if you would allow it.'

'I know that you would. But I fear that is something only I can accomplish, and I do not believe I have the strength.' 

She took my hand again, and squeezed it, then turned away and passed into the House, and as she departed, she seemed to have been diminished, and become no more than an image of her true self. 


	4. Chapter 3

Thank you to everyone who has written to say that they're enjoying this! I was very shy about trying to write a LOTR fanfic, and one concerning a character that other people write so well (Tolkien not least!). So I'm thrilled that people are enjoying this, and I promise I won't pull at your heart-strings for much longer. But first, chapter 3... 

III

_April is the cruellest month, breeding_

_Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing_

_Memory and desire_

The following day, the white banner of the Stewards flew again at the top of the White Tower, replacing the standard of the Warden, for in the early morning I had been sworn into office. I spent much of this first day as steward riding through the city, and I spoke to many people; and most wanted to tell of how they had felt the shadow depart, and some spoke kindly of my return to good health, and we all spoke with eager anticipation of the coming of the king. 

It had been a small occasion, my swearing in, and the modesty of the ceremony seemed to me fitting, since I had come to the office without any expectation of holding it, and only through the loss of my father and my brother. I stood in the Great Hall of the White Tower, at the foot of the dais, in front of my father's chair while, behind me, the silent lines of kings watched me gravely. The Lord Húrin stood before me, and the Marshal of the Riders to my right. 

Then I heard quick footsteps on the stone behind me and turned. She had come.

I shall never forget the sight of her as she walked towards me. She was clad completely in white, and her golden hair hung loose about her face and down past her shoulders. She shone like sunlight in that sombre hall, which had been dark for too long. She smiled at me as she came into place at my left, lightening my heart, for I had been anxious that she might stay away. 

The four of us assembled, I turned to face the Lord Húrin, and at his prompting, took the white rod, and swore the oath of my stewardship: 'To hold rod and rule in the name of the king, until he shall return. So say I, Faramir son of Denethor, Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King.'

'Take, then, the seal of your office.'

I looked down at the silver ring which he held towards me and suddenly my thoughts were filled with the memory of the man who had last worn it. How often, as a child - and even, on one dreadful occasion, as a man - had I felt the slice of this ring across my face? And in what condition had been the hand from which it had been retrieved? I flinched and my own hand jerked back. 

Concern crossed Húrin's face. 'My lord...?'

I felt a quick movement by me and then there she stood close by me. I breathed in her scent, clean and fresh, dispelling the taste of ash in my mouth. 

'Take it, lord,' she said, quiet but fierce. 'For though you and I both know the shadow of grief that can fall upon a house, yet we have each seen that shadow pushed back. _You are the Steward now, and you can wear this seal with honour, and with pride.'_

If I thought I had loved her before, it was as nothing to what I felt then. She gently moved my hand towards the ring, and I took it, and slipped it on my finger. Then I reached out my hand to grasp hers, and she received it, and held firm. Pressed into her hand, the cold of the silver warmed, and became natural. 

_Can you not see how you complete me? _

'Steward of Gondor,' Húrin was saying, 'twenty-seventh in the line from Mardil, you are charged to protect and to maintain the realm - until the king comes again.'

His voice finally caught on those words and we smiled up at each other, for against all expectation we would live to see that day. But even as the joy of that thought filled me once more, it did not pass my notice that she had dropped my hand since, for her, the thought of the king brought only grief. 

We parted outside the hall, in the courtyard, with the fountain running softly in the background. One of the women had come to escort her back to the Houses of Healing. 

I took her hand in mine, and she traced a finger lightly over the ring that I now bore. I looked at her, so lovely and so sad, and I swore again what I had said to her on our first meeting, and with greater passion, 'Whatever you desire, Éowyn, if it lies in my power, I will do it. I would not have you lacking anything.' And I kissed her hand and gazed into her eyes. 'If you call, Éowyn, I will come.'

She leaned towards me, and brushed her lips against my cheek. I reached in to sustain the kiss, but she drew back very gently. 'Dearest of friends,' she said, and held my hand tightly, 'if I thought that you could help me, I would ask. But I cannot yet see a path ahead.'

And then, after a last press, she let go, turned away, and it came to me that she had just bid me a final farewell. 

***

Ten days passed before I saw her again, for I had much to concern me in preparing the city for the arrival of the king. The lower levels had taken much damage during the siege, and it seemed a great injustice to the long, faithful watch of my forefathers to deliver to the king a city partly in ruins. The Pelennor too was being cleared and cleansed, in preparation for the return of the host and the captains. 

Entering what had been my father's study, but as its master, I sat behind his desk, and turned my mind to learning as quickly as I could how the city was administered. This had, of course, been my brother's part to study, and I had had little experience in governance. Yet I was straightaway struck by the fact that even before war had made his close attention to detail a necessity, no matter concerned with the operation of the city had been too small to escape my father's notice. 'No wonder his temper was so foul,' I muttered, as I went through the stacks of scrolls and documents. 

Women and children were returning to the city, some to find their homes destroyed, and these needed to be cared for. Already I was receiving heralds from lands east and south, bringing news that soon embassies would be arriving from their lords, to greet the new king, and to seek peace and alliances. And I would spend what time I could spare, which was not as much as I would have liked, studying the books of lore to learn what I could about how the crown had been passed to the kings in the past, to devise how it should be done now.  

Last of all the tasks I faced, I steeled myself to go to Rath Dínen, to the House of the Stewards, to look upon the destruction wrought by my father. The Lord Húrin accompanied me, concerned, I think, that I should not face that dark chamber alone. And I was glad of his presence, for inside the walls were still charred and black, and the room was now cold, and I shivered, and passed only two steps beyond the threshold before I had to turn back, instructing Húrin to do whatever he saw fit to restore the cursed place. 

That evening I went to the Houses of Healing for the first time since I had left. I was greeted by the Warden, who took me to the garden, where the Lady Éowyn was seated, still watching and waiting. She wore a dress of pale lavender, and her hair was bound back severely. Her face seemed thinner, and there were shadows beneath her eyes. We exchanged greetings, and then we lapsed into silence. 

Eventually, she spoke. 'How I envy you, ' she said. 'For you are now free to do as you choose, while I remain trapped here.' 

'Your brother has asked for you to join him in Cormallen.'

'I do not desire to go,' she said fiercely, and looked back at me proudly. 

I fell silent for a moment, considering what her reasons may be, and hoping that perhaps there was more than one. Gently, I began, 'Lady, I must speak - '

'Do not say it! You must not say it!' 

So I did not. 

'It would be better, I think,' she said softly, 'if you did not come again. I have no wish to cause you pain, and yet that seems to be inevitable.'

The decision was hers and hers alone to make. I stood and bowed, said my farewell, and left. Late that night, when I found myself sleepless and sitting back in my study, I thought I understood a little better my father's quest for oblivion in his work. 

***

The candle I have been watching for hours now is burning low and soon, I think, the room will go dark. Perhaps then I may sleep, but I am doubtful. 

For I burn. She consumes my thoughts. And I am afraid of the fire.

I am afraid, for I know what desire has done to my family. To my beloved brother, who wanted to restore the might and glory of Gondor, and so to become the king he believed himself to be. To my poor mother, whose yearning for her home became more real to her than the life she could have had with her children, and so she died. And to my father himself, whose longing for that dead wife turned him grim and pitiless and, at the last, insane. What changes could such thwarted desire work on me, how completely might it consume me? 

And if she were to become Queen, what then? To see her another man's wife, and, more, the wife of the king? My duty binds me to Gondor and it cannot be set aside. But to live my life relegated only to watching her bliss, forever denied her, yet compelled to be near her? Could I endure it?

I must control this. Surely, our acts of restraint show our quality as much as our acts of war. My whole life until now I was second best, and I bore it. For the sake of the love I have for my king and for the White Lady, I can bear it again. It can be endured. It shall be endured. 

But still, I am afraid of the fire.


	5. Epilogue

A/N: Remember - make no major decisions when feverish. Here's the scene which I should have written before posting the end, which you get again, very slightly altered. 

_***_

_Consummation_

In the morning, even with only a little sleep, it is possible to put aside the dark thoughts that have twisted us throughout the night. And so it was; I woke, and the sun was shining, and it was a new age, and I had lived to see it. 

And, as the days passed, I found also that for the first time in my life, I was my own master, and I discovered that I liked it. So long had deference been my custom that I had too easily forgotten that I held opinions, and that they were sound, and that people would listen and hold my views worthy of account. And if I thought of the White Lady at this time, it was to wish her, with all my heart, all the health and happiness which, if she had allowed it, I would have gladly given her. 

And so April wore away, and we would hear news of the approach of the host and the captains, and I would wake each morning refreshed, and eagerly anticipating the day that was soon to come. A staleness seemed to lift from the White Tower, and I moved from the study which had been my father's into a new room, which caught the morning sun, and in which even the papers that came with my office could not depress me. And then I turned my attention to the house in which I had grown up, and I opened windows and unsealed rooms, and brought out many things that had been put away, and sent away much for burning. 

Early one morning, I stood on the steps of the Tower looking eastwards and enjoying the cool sunlight that would later become warm, which I heard my name called, and turned to see the Warden of the Houses of Healing. And he spoke to me of the Lady Éowyn, and how it seemed she sickened, and my fragile peace was shattered. 

Straightaway I went back with him, and waited for her again in the garden. Not four weeks had passed since I myself had been dwelling here, and yet I felt the world had changed. And when she was brought to me, I saw that she too was changed, but she was sadder, and ill. 

She greeted me with a small smile. 'Dear friend. I thought you had forgotten me.'

'You asked me not to come.' I took her arm, and we walked once more again along the walls. 'Surely you must know by now, Éowyn, that I could not forget you, even if I wanted to.'

She gave a sigh, soft and sad. 'My friend - ' she began. But I too was changed, and this time I would be heard. And I asked her again why it was she remained in Minas Tirith, and I overcame my fear, and I offered her myself, if she would have me. 

***

Even in the dead of winter, something remains alive, embedded deep below the frost, waiting for the first sun of spring, however faint, to call it forth. Slowly, it puts out tendrils, delicate at first, then more eager, pursuing the sunlight which, although still weak itself, is still warmer than the hiding place below, and holds more promise. 

For fear there may be a late frost, which could kill whatever had begun to bud, one protects the new life, nurturing it, keeping it from any cold that might suddenly descend. And then there comes a moment where the roots are strong, and beneath just a gentle breath of warmth, flowers come forth. 

To behold such a transformation - and more, to be intrinsic to it, both first cause and final destination - is consummate; an extinction of the self, which is melted in the crucible of the other, and together they are forged, through some exquisite alchemy, into a new self. 

What was latent in the other is awoken. What was barren in her I enrich; what was cold in me she warms. She bursts into flower beneath my touch and I; I am on fire. She transforms me, and what had been my deepest terror becomes fundamental to our self, half of the essence of our new being. Our fears become foundations. 

***

The fire of our first kiss as lovers flames through the city. And this our own rebirth reflects and augments the greater renewal - the turning of the year to summer, the regeneration of the land, the restoration of the king. 

On a clear day at the start of May we come forth from the city Gate. The man who is to be my king stands before me; the woman who is to be my wife stands behind me. She completes me. I am complete. 

***

_The dove descending __brea__ks the air_

_With __fla__me of incandescent terror_

_Of which the tongues declare_

_The one discharge from sin and error._

_The only hope, or else despair_

_            Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre -_

_            To be redeemed from fire by fire. _

_Who then devised the torment? Love._

_Love is the unfamiliar Name_

_Behind the hands that wove_

_The intolerable shirt of __fla__me_

_Which human power cannot remove._

_            We only live, only suspire_

_            Consumed by either fire or fire. _

A/N: All the poetry is from TS Eliot: at the start of chapters 1 and 3 from _The Waste Land, chapter 2 from __Ash Wednesday, and the big chunk from __Little__ Gidding. And the title is lifted from __The __Waste__Land__. Eliot is the only other writer that I read and reread as obsessively as I do Tolkien, and he never fails to stump up an apposite epigram. And you try saying that with a blocked up nose! _

Altariel


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